


A Prisoner of Repitition and Deception

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, M/M, Mild Gore, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Oma Kokichi-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-New Dangan Ronpa V3, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Pre-New Dangan Ronpa V3, Tags May Change, Time Travel, ability to see ghosts, clairvoyant/medium Oma Kokichi, saioma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The worst thing to ever happen to Oma Kokichi was watching his mother die. It cursed him to forever misery. After all, she was his first ghost. Then he met Saihara Shuichi. It was the only happiness he ever needed. Saihara made him so many promises. And Oma won't let anything or anyone take that away from him. Not even himself.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Harukawa Maki, Akamatsu Kaede/Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito, Akamatsu Kaede/Momota Kaito, Amami Rantaro/Shinguji Korekiyo, Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are vague for the most part because I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. I don't know if it'll be gore-y or super angsty

Ouma’s first thought was to wonder if the same had occurred to his fellow students. None of them had ever seemed to have anything akin to his poor draw in life, though. They all seemed relatively normal outside of the whole “Ultimate Talent” schtick. None of the other fifteen seemed cursed with hellish abilities like Ouma was.  
Never could be too certain… Everyone was a liar, after all. Ouma was the only one openly forthright about that hideous little trait. He had good reason to lie. The whole situation itself demanded lies, as if the mere existence of his ability wasn’t enough. Perhaps the others too had reason to be secretive, hiding behind prettier, more convincing masks than Ouma ever possessed. For some reason, he doubted it. This doubt was not a misleading ideal that he alone in the world suffered. D.I.C.E. had their fair share of trials just like him... in all areas except one. They had their childhood traumas, of course, but D.I.C.E. would never be so literally tormented by ghosts of their past. That ugliness rooted deep within him never bothered anyone else that Ouma had ever met. It was hard to believe that any of his idiotically optimistic peers could fathom such a thing, let alone carry the same burden.   
It had been so hard to bite his tongue during the events leading to Yonaga and Chabashira’s death-  
Not even the ones he saw were like him in this way. His ability perhaps only extended to the ordinary. Hard to say as the dead were never particularly forthcoming with him. Even in his final moments, lily-white skin chilled to the bone trembling against unforgiving steel, they only stared emptily at him, answering none of the desperate questions in his own eyes.  
The first episode began there, at the end of it all. Dreadfully loud as the top of the press ground ever closer to him, the dissonance of noise buzzing gradually to silence. This was not the relief he expected it to be. Some things were more horrific than losing your own life.  
For Ouma, it was reliving a past he didn’t know he had.

Chapter One

The light that stung Ouma’s eyes when he struggled to open them was not particularly blinding. In fact, it was a rather dim, flickering light. Immediately he knew upon seeing the lavender walls and gothic aesthetic that this was Saihara’s favorite place in the world to be- a slow-paced diner that Ouma had been working at the last several months. It was an odd, jarring fact to align with the Saihara in Ouma’s mind at that moment. True the boy was a bit emo but this grungy place had a dark atmosphere that not even weeks of trauma their group had been through had brought out in Saihara. How could this place ever appeal to him?   
There were too many racing thoughts in Ouma’s head, conflicting memories warring over his brain. The face of a detective came to the forefront as he spotted a hunched figure at a wobbly little table to his left drawing. The memory was so distant but still lingering somewhere in the recesses of his recall. A gloved hand pushing lavender-toned white hair over a shoulder played over and over behind his eyelids like a fragment of an annoying song stuck in his head. This tiny scene was important to the person drawing in this diner. Ouma had always had a strict ‘no staring’ policy but he could not seem to tear his eyes away. The stranger’s pencil moved in short, fast movements as it moved across the sketchbook paper. Something about it was absolutely mesmerizing.   
No, not a stranger. That hat was familiar, the painstaking strokes of that hand so recognizable as though Ouma had indeed spent forever watching him sketch.  
Amber eyes flickered over to him for a brief second and Ouma’s breath caught in his throat.  
Saihara Shuichi.  
Everything was flooding back as those eyes peered into his soul. Time stood still as Ouma tried to comprehend his returning memories of his time trapped in that academy.   
Of course, everything had been a lie. Everything he had thought he could trust, even his own past memories of D.I.C.E. and his childhood… Was nothing real?  
His stomach turned at the too much of it all but Ouma could not bear to hurl in Saihara’s presence. He could not afford to go home either.   
There was not anyone that could come in for him.  
Right. Ouma was meant to be working. Here he was staring shamelessly about the diner while neglecting his duties. That would certainly not put him in the good graces of his tyrant of a manager.  
He clutched harder at the mop in his hand, trying to ground himself. This could not be real, his head was spinning, everything felt overwhelming and dreamlike. It was oddly difficult to move the mop even a few centimeters, as though it weighed a tonne. The moment before he blacked out he realized he was fainting.   
_“It’s okay, Koneko. Just lie still for mama, you’re safe now.”_  
_“Now?” Ouma asked. He wanted to open his eyes and see her smiling face. But there were fingers in his hair and he wasn’t sure if he’d have an unblocked look at her face. He didn’t want the reminder. It made him sick just thinking about it._  
_“Breathe, that’s all you have to do. Just breathe, Koneko.” Her voice was soothing. It was easy to stop thinking and relax when she whispered to him._  
“-san?”   
“What?” It was hard to talk like there was cotton in his mouth. It hadn’t been this difficult a second ago, had it? Had it been just seconds? It felt like he was on the floor. What was happening? Everything hurt, especially his head.  
“-easy, Ouma-san. Stay still. Can you tell me where you are?” the voice was safe just like his mother’s. Made his blood warm and fingertips buzz.   
“You have good taste, Koneko.” That explained the unmatched tempos in his hair. One was slow, just stroking. The other was firmer, fingertips searching his scalp. Sometimes they crossed paths, but neither seemed deterred by the other. It was nice, if not a tad unsettling.   
“I don’t…” Ouma muttered, struggling to open his eyes. He wanted to go back to sleep and his eyelids were very heavy.   
“Okay. It’s fine, just lay here. You don’t need to move, Ouma-san. I’m just checking you for a concussion; you hit your head pretty hard. Do you remember what happened?”   
“Did- I…. what?”   
“What’s happening here?” A new voice made Ouma’s blood boil. Someone was interrupting his first proper interaction with Saihara-kun. Oh God, it was Saihara touching his hair. Had he showered this morning? Was Saihara grossed out?  
Saihara’s firm touch on his scalp turned into a fist around his roots. It stung but Ouma didn’t care. He finally forced his eyes open and trained them on Saihara despite the ache in his head. The look on the other boy’s face could freeze the Pacific Ocean. It wasn’t directed at Ouma though, it was stalling the asshole interrupting their conversation.   
“I didn’t give him permission to take a break. Do you realize how unprofessional this is? Ouma, stand up and get to work or you’re fired. And tell your boyfriend to never come back to this establishment or I’ll have him arrested.” Right, Ouma’s boss. Why was it so hard for him to remember everyday information? Maybe he did have a concussion.  
Saihara’s hand relaxed in his hair and went back to running through the strands. Except instead of searching for a nasty lump, it was just petting him. Ouma wanted to fall asleep in Saihara’s arms so badly. This was amazing. There was no way he was letting this go ever. Luckily, Saihara spoke before Ouma had to.  
“Excuse me, sir. Your employee actually fainted on the job, which doesn’t look very good on you. I can leave, but I need to take Ouma with me. He hit his head and I believe he has a concussion. I’m not his boyfriend, I saw him faint. I’m pretty sure forcing your employees to work with a concussion is illegal. Also since he may have gotten the concussion on the job, allowing your employee to work with low blood sugar to the point of fainting is negligence which could mean a lawsuit. So I’d suggest letting us leave before you get yourself in any more trouble.” Saihara spoke as soft as ever, but his words bit at Ouma’s boss. The look on the manager’s face said that he’d heard every word.  
Saihara really would make the best detective.   
“I had no idea. I’ll call someone in. Take him home.” Ouma caught the look of scorn on his manager’s face. It didn’t matter though. He was allowed to leave with Saihara. And Saihara was carrying him. Who knew he was so strong?  
“Don’t worry, Ouma. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are super appreciated


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for very mild gore, puking, mentions of domestic abuse, and bullying. Please let me know if I missed anything and should add it. I have no intention of triggering or upsetting anyone with this fic, but it will be dealing with sensitive topics. Keep yourself safe, guys. I care more about your well-being than a few reads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not consider this a guide on treating concussions. They definitely should have gone to a hospital to have Ouma properly checked. Also, I am just using google as a guide and am not trained in treating concussions. Thanks

Chapter Two

-Ouma-

Ouma was put on forty-eight hours of observation by Saihara. The very thought made his heart race but it was much better than the thought of hospitals. A doctor asking him questions and hearing about this double life now deeply seeded in his mind that he didn’t have time to process right now because that was just too… huge and he had a possible brain injury so. And they’d call his father and that could not happen. Saihara didn’t push the hospital idea particularly hard, anyways. In fact… if he tried to force his aching head to remember, Ouma was actually fairly certain the one that brought it up was him. Saihara didn’t get up on the stop for the hospital and Ouma blinked in confusion at the boy. At first, his heart thudded desperately in his throat at the idea of speaking at all to Saihara, beautiful wonderful Saihara… However, his mouth moved without his consent anyway, suggesting an idea he absolutely didn’t want. 

“Shouldn’t we go to the hospital?” His voice was so soft he hoped Saihara didn’t hear. 

Saihara’s head jerked up anyways and Ouma wished those lovely yellow-grey irises would meet his and thanked every being alive that Saihara had a knack for not making eye contact because if he saw those eyes reflecting his own his heart would cease beating and he’d never be able to see anything ever again. Saihara hummed for a moment, processing Ouma’s question. “Not until we know for sure.” 

Then they were standing outside Saihara’s house and Ouma could not breathe. No way was he allowed inside the other boy’s house. It was pure and good and filled with happy childhood memories that Ouma was sure to ruin with the terrible awfulness in his own body, running in his veins. He shouldn’t even be near lovely wonderful Saihara. He might poison him too. 

“Are you coming? I can’t watch you through the window, Ouma-san.” Saihara called from a foot in front of Ouma. 

Ouma forced his feet to move and reminded himself why this was a good thing.

He wouldn’t be alone. The panic wouldn’t settle in his chest and make him desperate for anyone to be  _ there.  _

Ouma was so very selfish. 

He followed Saihara indoors. The other walked through the entryway towards what appeared to be a living room. Every single thing was so neat and orderly, bathed in warm lights. It felt so home-y. Ouma didn’t want to ever leave. 

“Sit down, I want to check you again. You have a lot of signs but I just can’t… seem to find any marks or lumps… I  _ saw  _ you hit your head. I should be able to find this but-”

He sounded like the same Saihara in Ouma’s memories and that helped ease his heart. If he was Saihara from Ultimate Ouma’s lifetime then Ultimate Ouma could be in charge and normal Ouma could just linger in the background where he belonged. And yet… somehow it was harder than he thought to just switch. All the memories and motivations were there but how was he supposed to function with so much information. He felt like he was on autopilot and didn’t know how to turn it off.

“Hey, don’t pass out again. Just sit down, okay, Ouma-san?” Saihara said, trying to take Ouma by the elbow to guide him to the couch.

The room was swaying with just too much of everything and Ouma couldn’t breathe past the rising nausea in his throat. Oh God, he was going to puke on Saihara or his carpet and that was so unacceptable but he couldn’t swallow that back down. Saihara and his brilliant observation skills seemed to sense the impending disaster and instead of continuing to attempt to get Ouma to lie down, Saihara dragged him to the kitchen sink. Ouma’s hair was barely out of his face before he was gagging up food he didn’t remember eating because three hours ago he was living another life planning his own death. 

Maybe he wasn’t concussed. Maybe Saihara couldn’t pinpoint the injury because Ouma wasn’t hurt; Ouma was just insane. 

The thought had him puking again.

When he could finally stop spitting up bile, Saihara brought a warm, wet washcloth to his face and started cleaning him off. Ouma was simultaneously mesmerized and disgusted with himself. How could Saihara show someone as vile as himself so much gentleness?

“Well, now I’m certain you have a concussion,” Saihara murmured quietly. 

“Hospital?” Ouma asked miserably. Please not a hospital. His father could not know. Saihara and his father could never meet.

“No, you just need someone to keep an eye on you and rest. I can test you myself anyways. If it becomes something I can’t care for, then we can consider professional help.” Saihara explained his reasoning as he set the washcloth on the kitchen counter and began helping Ouma back into the living room. 

Ouma attempted to communicate his gratitude but all that came out was a groan of pain from the movement. Did they have to move so much? He really wanted to just lie down. It had been such a long day. 

***

Ouma woke up to a familiar ring and for a moment his heart stopped beating in his chest. It had just been a dream. That was so bizarre… it had felt so real. Was he alive then? His eyelids were heavy and he’d rather just stay sleeping, but curiosity won out and he forced his eyes open. At first all he saw gold light, blinding and painful despite not being particularly bright. Then there was a buzz near his shoulder and he made out a much-brighter phone screen. The lock screen was half black and half white and the color scheme made his stomach twist up into knots. Then he registered that they’d never once had phones in the Academy and the weight eased off his chest, allowing him to breathe once more. The buzzing paused long enough to ring again in the same announcement notes that chilled Ouma’s blood. A notification appeared on the phone screen, but before he could force his blurry vision to make out the words, a hand was picking up the phone and turning it off. 

“Sorry,” Saihara muttered sheepishly from over Ouma’s head. “I don’t like missing an episode. I didn’t mean to wake you yet.” 

“You’re a…” the word was on the tip of Ouma’s too dry tongue but it was hard sifting through the overfull memories crammed into his brain for it. Once it had been important to him, so very dear. Now, however, judging by his heart palpitations, the memory was soured for some reason. 

A dark blush settled across Saihara’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose, although it was hard to distinguish from the shadows across his face in the dim light of the room. “Dangan Ronpa fan?” he chuckled before nodding, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Ouma wished he had his backpack, could pull out the binder full of his rough, ugly sketches of all his favorite characters. Anything to make that shame disappear from Saihara’s face. Would Saihara steal the Kirigiri section or be offended at Ouma’s gross portrayal of her?

“I don’t mind,” he slurred instead, wishing the room was darker. The lights were slowly worsening the pounding of his headache.

Saihara knelt down, eyes searching Ouma’s face. “Something the matter? Was I talking too loudly?” His voice was much softer than before, clearly concerned.

“Lights,” Ouma admitted, hating how hard it was to focus enough to speak. Everything in his brain felt sloshy, slipping out of his hand whenever he tried to hold on. 

“I’m sorry,” Saihara apologized immediately, jumping up to turn them off. Ouma watched him leave, hating every second of it. He wanted to cling tightly to the other boy and never let go lest he slip from his grasp too. 

“Better?” 

Ouma nodded, wincing in pain from the motion. “Thank you.”

Saihara returned to the head of the couch where Ouma could see him quite closely, kneeling in front of him. It was fairly dark in the room but some light filtering through the blinds of the sliding door to the backyard caught in Saihara’s eyes, making the yellow glitter beautifully. There was hesitation, nervousness in them that Ouma didn’t understand. How could he communicate to Saihara that he could do whatever he wanted with Ouma, no hesitation needed? 

Saihara exhaled, a quiet hum of breath fanning over Ouma’s face. A hand finally went to Ouma’s mess of hair and started carding through the locks. Ouma was fairly certain something inside him was melting at all the proximity and contact.

***

_ He was standing in a pitch-black room. There were supposed to be candles lit along the wall but for some reason, they were out in this room. Ouma kept trying to find that wall to relight them but no matter how long he stumbled around, wood never met his searching, outstretched fingertips. The next step he took caused his heart to fall into his stomach as the floor gave out under his foot. Pain radiated like scorching lightning across his forehead as something collided with his face. A room full of laughter, taunts of dead classmates echoing around.  _

_ Ouma choked in blood, suddenly drowning in it. The floor that caused this ache in his head vanished beneath him until he was thrashing in viscous blood. Despite his desperation and inability to breathe, his movements were slowed by the thick substance suffocating him, filling his lungs and coating his throat in metallic liquid.  _

_ He could hear voices easily through it, mocking him.  _

_ “You deserve to suffer,” Akamatsu’s voice, twisted with cruelty but carrying the same amusement as always.  _

_ “You’ll never be good enough for him,” Amami reminded him.  _

_ “Squirm like bugs Gonta know you hate. Never get out,” Even Gokuhara sounded vicious, words tearing into Ouma’s skin. He was being torn apart, blood gushing from his wounds and choking him with the blood of his classmates.  _

_ He couldn’t breathe and they didn’t care. _

_ “Atua hates liars,” Yonaga sing-songed, and with that Ouma was lifted from the endless pool of blood, pink dripping off him. A hand tightened around his throat, glasses gleaming with a red light before him. The person in shadow towered over him.  _

_ “You’ll never win no matter how hard you try; you made a promise and we own your life. There’s no escape.” _

_ His body slammed into cold metal, shirt gone. He took shaky breaths, trembling from the freezing temperature along his bare back. A sickening crunch as his whole body was crushed, blood splattering out from him like juice from a squashed berry.  _

Ouma jolted awake, breath leaving him in heavy pants, a silent scream dead on his tongue. He whimpered, hating the tears stinging his eyes. Why did he have to be so fucking weak? A stupid dream had him sobbing like an infant. He wanted to cut himself open and bleed out all the poisonous weakness and evil in his veins. He had to be perfect for Saihara, but he was just vermin. 

Ouma curled in on himself, head throbbing with each breathless snivel. He was pathetic. Disgusting. At least Saihara was not there to witness such miserable behavior. Saihara had probably realized what wickedness he had allowed into his home and was phoning the police as Ouma blubbered on his couch. 

What had that dream meant? It had been so confusing.  _ Nothing  _ made sense anymore. When had he stopped having the answers for everything?

-Saihara-

Saihara did not particularly want to leave Ouma asleep on the couch. Seeing him passed out there and so innocent, vulnerable… without someone beside him, watching over him, anyone could come along and hurt Ouma. Take him away from the safety of Saihara’s home. Saihara wasn’t blind. He saw the bruises on Ouma’s neck that he tried to hide, the busted lips, the black eyes, and broken bones. People loved to hurt him, take that small child-like frame and bash it. Saihara wanted to light them all on fire. 

It pained him to leave Ouma alone, but missing a Dangan Ronpa trial? That was unacceptable. His forum would blow up with comments about the blackened and opinions on the execution and Saihara would be utterly spoiled. The very idea made him sick. He had to watch it. He  _ had  _ to. Even just waiting for Ouma to fall asleep made his hands shake so badly with the urge to turn the show on. However, Saihara was going to be the  _ last  _ person to hurt Ouma. 

So the minute he was certain Ouma was really asleep, saw his eyes flicking beneath his eyelids, Saihara bolted upstairs to his room. His phone took forever to load, not fond of the streaming channel he used and he wanted to chuck it across the room. He had definitely already missed the start of the trial, possibly even some of the first couple discussions of the clues. Why did his wi-fi hate him so much?

Finally it loaded and Saihara settled in between his bed and the wall, the best place to watch his favorite show. The wall was an exterior one and the furthest from the walls that separated his room from his family members’ rooms. His older sister was the worst snitch and his mom would have a fit if she knew he watched something so “bloody and disturbing.” 

Yes! They were still arguing the first point. Saihara exhaled in relief and relaxed against the frame of his mattress. 

The murder this time had been a particularly frightening one. Saihara was almost certain the DR team was trying to call back to season one (they loved their easter eggs) by having the victim trussed up like a fly caught in a web. The style was nothing like Togami’s job, of course. The victim was completely hogtied, but the easter egg was in the extension cords used. The blackened must be one sick bastard. It was hard to imagine any of the remaining students pulling a stunt like that. They all seemed like hit and dash types, most of them pretty jumpy and skittish. Saihara knew better than anyone, though, that everyone had a dark side. DR proved that time and again. 

The students were all having a difficult time with staying on topic, too freaked out by the horror of their friend’s death. She was a fan favorite, and very popular with the other students. Saihara had certainly expected her to last until at least the final five. His list was definitely going to need some revising. 

“No, that’s wrong. Tsurugi wasn’t strangled and the fact that her clothes were wet proves that!”

Saihara couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. Amami was someone he’d been ready to see dead for a while now. He was just so boring. Sure, he had helped solve several of the trials which typically meant they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon but still. It was such a weird choice the writers had made this season. How was he expected to believe that an Ultimate Stylist had the experience and skill to put together all the evidence and solve murders? Fans argued that it was a trained eye for detail, but Saihara still thought it was bullshit. 

Maybe he’d get lucky and Amami would be made interesting by being the blackened for this case. That’d definitely do it, watching him snap and reveal how sick and twisted he really was. The despair that would cause everyone who’d been relying on him and trusting him to catch the bad guy this whole time when really he was just a bloodthirsty lunatic… That’d be absolutely delightful. Just thinking about it sent a thrill up Saihara’s spine, making him shiver. 

Either way, this was going to be a very fun trial. 

They were wrapping up the loose ends before the execution when Saihara heard it. He pulled his eyes from the screen, trying to press down the surprise when he noticed his dark windows. He always lost track of time when he spiraled into a Dangan Ronpa binge. At some point, it had to stop shocking him. He shook his head, straining his ears to listen for the noise that had distracted him. What was that? It sounded like… some kind of distress.

Shit,  _ Ouma.  _

Saihara paused the video, mentally thanking the site he used for allowing pausing mid-video and apologizing for getting frustrated about his own trash service as he raced back downstairs. 

The entire time, the worst images played in his mind of Ouma being tortured or dragged bodily out the door, beaten to a bloody pulp… So what he found brought him to a halt at the entrance to the room. Ouma was curled up in a tight ball, body wracked with his sobs. 

The crying did something to Saihara, made his heart pound in his throat, adrenaline flooding his body. It made him anxious and it was weirdly exhilarating.  _ No wonder people took such joy in hurting him…  _

He forced himself out of his own thoughts, moving closer very carefully, not wanting to alert Ouma to his presence. It might upset him more, or worse, scare him. Saihara grabbed a blanket off the armchair adjacent to the couch and draped it over Ouma, who flinched violently.

“Woah, sorry…” Saihara muttered, catching Ouma before he could topple off the couch. “Ah, uh… I was trying to not… scare you. What’s wrong? Was something bothering your head?”

Ouma’s wide eyes blinked wetly up at him. God, they were so pretty it made Saihara feel like he was choking on his own heart.  _ Don’t get lost in his eyes, don’t get lost in his eyes, don’t get lo- _

“Saihara-kun…” Ouma trailed off, still obviously struggling with speech. It was concerning. Saihara needed to do more research on that for sure. 

For now, though, he moved one of his hands from where it was bracing Ouma by the shoulders to cup the boy’s damp cheek and wiped away the trail of tears. There was something alight in Ouma’s galaxy eyes, akin to desperation. Could it be that Ouma liked him as much as Saihara did? 

Unlikely. Ouma probably would run screaming out that door if Saihara gave in to the temptation to lick the tears off his thumb. Ouma was only there because Saihara was taking advantage of his injury. It was luck that had Saihara being the one to see Ouma fall (and a tiny bit of too much staring) and had the privilege to be the one to take care of him. Ouma said himself that he wanted to go to a hospital and Saihara denied him that option. 

Saihara was not blind to the disgust in the curl of Ouma’s lip. He had always had a knack for reading people after spending so much time watching and studying people. He had so very little time with the other. This was his only opportunity. He had to turn that disgust into something positive. He could not lose Ouma. 

Saihara was quiet too long and Ouma squirmed out of his grasp, hunching down and covering his face with his hands. Those so small hands rubbed aggressively at his face as if trying to permanently erase all traces of crying from it. 

Perhaps Ouma’s disgust was not with Saihara… A ridiculous thought, but still. Saihara couldn’t negate the possibility. 

Saihara sat down next to Ouma, trying to not get distracted by his own embarrassment at having allowed himself to stare so long at Ouma’s eyes. He could see Ouma nervously pulling on his own fingers in his peripheral. Why couldn’t Ouma just confide in him what was wrong? Something obviously upset him. Was it being here or the fact that Saihara left him? 

“You know, you should really try to go back to sleep. Thinking so hard might worsen this concussion of yours,” Saihara offered, doing his best to keep his voice on the quiet side. 

Ouma shook his head immediately, body tensing up beside Saihara, shrinking into the too-big uniform the diner had given him like he was trying to retreat in on himself. 

Oh.

Saihara raised an eyebrow, biting his tongue for a minute as he decided whether or not to speak. Would it be callous to bring up something Ouma clearly didn’t want to talk about?

“Was- Ah. Uh, um… did you have a nightmare?” Saihara said slowly. 

Ouma’s inhale was sharp and shaky like breathing was difficult for him. Saihara had hit the nail on the head, apparently. Ouma nodded slowly, yanking harder on his fingers until the joints in his knuckles popped. Ouma wasn’t looking at him, face hidden by his fringe. 

Saihara couldn’t fault him. He wasn’t fond of eye contact in general.

“Okay, well the Dangan Ronpa episode is over so I’m not going anywhere. Does me being here help?” As if Saihara’s presence could ever be a comfort to someone. The idea was laughable. 

“Yeah,” Ouma murmured, cracking his thumb in his fist. Saihara wanted to pull Ouma’s hands into his own, stop the nervous fidgeting. If Ouma kept at this he might hurt his poor fingers. 

Saihara glanced up at Ouma’s face, still hidden by his hair. “Okay. Why don’t you try to lay down and get some rest and when you wake up, I’ll make some food for you too eat. Does that sound doable?”

Ouma finally looked up, shaking his head earnestly, “No! I wouldn’t want to put Saihara-kun or his family out. I don’t want to burden you. You don’t need to feed me, I’m fine. Really.”

Saihara bit his tongue to keep the joy at hearing Ouma speak to him off his face. God, he had the loveliest voice. At least he wasn’t slurring his words so much anymore! That had really been worrying him. Perhaps it was more social anxiety than head trauma. A relief. 

“It’s not a bother,” Saihara said firmly, not leaving room for argument. He left out the fact that his family was rarely home. Ouma didn’t need to know that. It would only confuse him when they had to move him to the guest room downstairs tonight to keep him from Saihara’s parents’ and siblings’ eyes. 

Ouma bit his lip before seeming to decide to go along with Saihara’s plan. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“Of course. Now, get some sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that abrupt ending. I didn't exactly want to continue on for another ten pages with Ouma sleeping and waking up repeatedly. Should have the next chapter out soon, possibly tonight if I get it finished in time.  
> I love the idea of Amami being the 52nd season's protag, I don't know why. Maybe it's the ahoge?  
> Lemme know what you're thinking about this so far, if anything is confusing, etc. Feedback and theories are also welcomed and appreciated.  
> Hope you have a fantastic day, guys <3


End file.
